


King of Winter

by Mad_Mage



Series: Soulmates AU [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Hear me Roar, Hurt/Comfort, Queen in the North, The King in The North, Tywin has a heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2020-09-25 09:43:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20374708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Mage/pseuds/Mad_Mage
Summary: Sansa deserved someone stronger and braver who could protect her and keep her safe and be her friend and even a lover and a husband. She was two years older than Tommen, she was almost a woman. And what had she gotten? Him. The only thing Tommen could offer was his devotion.---A soulmates AU featuring two lovable cubs finding their claws and one grumbly lion smoothing things over for them.





	1. What a lion wants, a lion gets

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to a Tommen/Sansa soulmate AU! This story is longer than I thought, so get comfy and enjoy reading the first chapter :)
> 
> Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine, I’m just a poor mad mage.

No one would say that his grandfather was a nice man. Tommen had no illusions about the man who wore the Hand’s badge on his breast – just like the young prince had no more illusions about the true nature of his family.

He was the second-born son, the spare, the small little fawn whom everyone ignored. Tommen wasn’t the King, he wasn’t as forceful and attention-seeking and privileged as his elder brother. He wasn’t even the middle child, the beautiful princess who would marry a prince and live away from the horrible place that was King’s Landing. He was the third child, the weak, pitiable boy who was overlooked as if he wasn’t even in the room. He had overheard a lot of things – more than they wanted him to know. More than _he_ wanted to know. And still… still, he was invisible.

But his grandfather had noticed him.

Tommen took a deep breath and dared to knock at his grandfather’s door. The guards were eyeing him curiously but let him stand there until he heard from the other side, “Come in.”

Lord Tywin was sitting behind his desk, writing. He often seemed to be writing, or reading, or doing what the Hand of the King usually did. Tommen waited patiently for several minutes, just standing in front of the desk, hands nervously wringing together.

“So, my prince,” the Lord Hand started and put his quill away. “How long have you seen colors?”

For a moment, Tommen didn’t know what to say. He looked at his grandfather and tried to come up with an answer that would not give away his deepest and most treasured secret. He couldn’t think of one – Tommen wasn’t a very good liar. That seemed to be yet another thing that marked him as the odd one in his family. Everyone else was good at it.

“For two years, I think,” he answered finally. Almost three.

Lord Tywin hummed and nodded. He rose up from his seat, rounded the table and then leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. He was now towering over the prince and Tommen had to take a step back and crane his neck to see his grandfather’s face.

One day, he hoped to be as tall as him. Perhaps people would not overlook him so easily if he would be so tall and intimidating.

“Have you ever told anyone?” he asked next.

Tommen shook his head. There was no one to tell. He knew he _couldn’t_.

“How…” He voiced died away. “Forgive me, Grandfather. I shouldn’t ask questions.”

“On the contrary, that’s exactly what you should do. How do you expect to learn anything?”

“Mother doesn’t like it if I ask her questions.”

“Of course she doesn’t. She doesn’t like to be questioned in any way but _I_ expect you to learn as much as you can. _Ask_.”

The prince bit his lip and wrung his hands some more. “How did you know?”

He had been so careful. He never talked about colors, never commented on how pretty things were or were not. He remembered what it had been like to see his surroundings in black and white and it wasn’t difficult to pretend that it hadn’t changed. In a certain way, his world was even more devoid of beauty since he had started to see colors.

To his surprise, his grandfather smirked and moved to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk, motioning for Tommen to sit in the other one. Once the prince did that, he answered, “You did quite well in hiding it, I doubt that anyone other than me could notice. You were, however, not careful enough. Not everyone in this castle is not paying attention to whom _you_ pay attention.”

_Sansa!_ Tommen sat up straighter, a panicked expression on his face, and he cried out, “Oh, no! Grandfather, please, don’t hurt her!”

“Hurt her?” he repeated slowly, eyebrows raised. “Can you give me three reasons why I should not?”

Tommen swallowed and slumped back into the seat. He moved all the way back to the backrest and his legs weren’t long enough for him to touch his feet to the ground. He swung them and stared at his grandfather. Lord Lannister was waiting for the reply, observing the prince with assessing eyes. Tommen felt like everything was at stake now, that this was the moment his future would be decided. In the game of thrones, you won or you died. Mother liked to mutter it under her breath often when she thought no one was near. The prince wasn’t interested in the game of thrones but he understood that he had to learn to play it if he wanted to remain alive.

He didn’t want to end up like his fathe-King Robert, or Sansa’s father and her younger brothers, or his Unc-Lord Renly. He didn’t want _her_ to end up dead even more.

“She is a Stark,” he said slowly.

“Alright, that’s a start.” Lord Lannister nodded once. “Elaborate on this one.”

“As the only other Stark, she is the heir to Winterfell,” Tommen continued, his wide green eyes glued to his grandfathers. He had only rarely been the absolute center of someone’s attention. When Tommen had been much younger, his mother would often cuddle him but then she had focused more and more on Joffrey or Myrcella and hadn’t simply had enough time to pay any attention to her second son.

“Good. What does that currently mean? Being the heir to Winterfell?”

“Winterfell doesn’t have a lord… Winterfell has a king… if something happened to her brother… she would be a queen. The Queen in the North.”

Lord Lannister narrowed his eyes and leaned closer over the gap between their chairs. Tommen did his best not to shrink away.

“So, your first reason why I should not hurt Lady Sansa is that she is the heir to the Northern crown, correct?”

Tommen nodded and blinked. He needed to come up with two others and pray that his grandfather would not decide to hurt her anyway. It was Tommen’s duty to protect the lady – it was his fault that Lord Tywin had _noticed_ in the first place.

“The Northerners will never stop fighting or at least they will never surrender if something happens to the last Starks… they…” Tommen blinked at the sparks that suddenly flared up in his grandfather’s gaze. “They would probably select a new king among the houses who could claim Stark blood and the fight would continue. They’ll never bend the knee to an outsider. If Sansa is unharmed and here and her brother dies, they will not select a new king and there is a chance for a resolution.”

“What do you think would be the best resolution in this situation, then?” prodded the Lord Hand.

Tommen’s breath hitched and he sat down on his hands to stop himself from any more wringing. He didn’t want to say it but he took a deep breath and forced the words out, “Sue for peace with the North and give them their Queen… but… but marry her first to someone who the North would think is an acceptable choice – so not my brother … Someone else who is also loyal to the Iron Throne and would not take up arms again.”

“You would let them keep their independence?”

“For now... The North remembers and the current lords will never accept anything else. In two or three decades, they will be more willing to listen.”

“You would make an excellent heir to Casterly Rock, my prince.” Lord Lannister stood from his chair and moved to the window, hands clasped behind his back. “That was very well thought out. I only regret that your elder brother and the rest of these fools we are surrounded with do not see what’s right in front of their noses.”

“Heir to the Rock, my lord?” Tommen was stunned. He never knew he had been even considered for that position – his Unc-his fathe- _Ser Jaime_ was unable to inherit, that was true, but there was still Uncle Tyrion. Of course, Uncle Tyrion had been seriously wounded in the battle. Stupid Tommen.

“Never mind that. Tell me three reasons why this war needs to end as soon as possible.”

That was easy, Tommen had no problems to rapidly fire off his answers, “War costs money and people and the longer it continues, the worse we all will be in the future. The winter is coming and the North is best suited to survive it – they have lots of forests and lumber-mills and sheep – firewood and wool – and we’ll need to start trading with them our crops. Then there are the dragons. The last Targaryen will eventually cross the sea and…” Tommed fell silent when he noticed that his grandfather had turned and was piercing him with his glare. He seemed angry. What had Tommen said?

“You are a sharp boy. How is it possible that no one has ever noticed before?”

“No one pays me any attention, my lord.”

“Hmm.”

Tommen had the unpleasant suspicion that those times had just ended. It seemed that he had attracted Lord Tywin’s attention and the Lord Hand would keep the prince under close scrutiny.

“Stand up, my prince, and let me have a proper look at you.”

Tommen hurried to stand and then fidgeted slightly as he waited, motionless. His grandfather looked Tommen up and down and a frown formed between his eyebrows. He was obviously displeased.

“How old are you, precisely?”

“Twelve, almost thirteen.”

“Hmff.”

That sound didn’t bode well for him, the prince thought and bowed his head. He knew what his grandfather was thinking right now. Tommen was a plump boy, short for his age, soft and meek and useless. His only real redeeming quality was that he could stay out of sight, he supposed.

“What do you like to study with the maester the most, my prince?”

He looked up, confused. “I don’t have any lessons with a maester.”

Lord Tywin’s jaw clenched and he took a slow step toward the prince. “You don’t? Never have?”

“No, I had lessons,” Tommen was quick to assure him. He didn’t want his grandfather to think that he was _that_ stupid. “With Myrcella and Joffrey… But they stopped when Joff was c-crowned and then Myrcella focused more at the t-training with her septa and…”

“You mean to tell me that your education ended almost two years ago when your brother ascended the throne because no one bothered to continue it?”

“Yes?”

“Is that a question or an answer, my prince?”

“A-an answer.” This time, Tommen made sure to have his intonation right.

“What did you like to study, then?” The Lord Hand moved behind his desk again, sat gracefully and reached for his quill and fresh parchment. He didn’t look up at Tommen as he started to write.

“History.”

“What about strategy?”

“Joff didn’t like it, so we never covered it much.”

His grandfather looked up sharply and forced a short breath through his nose out before he gritted through clenched teeth, “The King allowed it?”

“Mother let Joffrey pick our maester and he picked the one who taught us what Joff liked…”

They looked at each other in silence. Tommen could see that his grandfather was angry but the prince didn’t think that the anger was directed at him – more on King Robert, Mother, and Joff.

“Your weapon training then, Prince Tommen. What’s your favorite weapon?”

Tommen’s eyes closed and he lowered his head, wishing the ground would swallow him. He had _played_ with wooden swords when he had been younger but… He wasn’t as good as Joffrey and King Robert had said that training Tommen would be a waste of time. Since then, Tommen had not stepped a foot into the training grounds. He bet that his grandfather was regretting saying that Tommen would have been a good heir to Casterly Rock. The silence became deafening as Lord Tywin stopped writing.

“I see,” he growled. “You have only a partial education, no training in combat and are mainly ignored by anyone and everyone in this court and it has always been so, am I correct, my prince?”

Had it always been so? No, not always but Tommen wasn’t really sure when it had begun. Long before King Robert died, for sure.

“Look at me,” said his grandfather coldly and Tommen almost flinched when he saw the furious expression on the man’s face. “I will not stand for any more of your meekness, boy.”

The prince blinked and suppressed the urge to tremble before his grandfather. He had angered him for being useless and stupid, hadn’t he?

“Straighten up, hold your head high, always look people in their eyes when you talk to them,” he commanded. “Don’t flinch, don’t stutter, don’t fidget. Can you do that?”

Tommen opened his mouth in surprise and then closed it quickly. He drew up his shoulders and nodded, looking at his grandfather – not into his eyes, but at his face. “I think so.”

“Good.” Lord Tywin blew at the parchment and then proceeded to fold it and stamp it. “You have a choice, my prince. You either stay the timid fawn everyone thinks that’s all you’ll ever going to be or you grow into a lion. I know what I’d prefer to be. What about you?”

“I don’t know how to be a lion, Grandfather,” whispered Tommen and was lowering his head. Then he remembered not to and stopped. He didn’t know where to look – he was afraid to see the expression on Lord Tywin’s face. Tommen was nothing like the men in their family. He wasn’t a brilliant strategist and battle commander like Lord Tywin. He wasn’t the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms like Ser Jaime. He wasn’t intelligent and funny like Uncle Tyrion.

“Through no fault of yours. What has been my daughter thinking? You should have been fostered at the Rock, you should have been raised to be a leader. Casterly Rock could also still be yours by rights, I haven’t named an heir yet. But most importantly, you are the heir to the throne. Do you realize that?”

“I don’t think I want the throne,” Tommen said.

“This is not about what you want. It might be your responsibility one day.” His grandfather leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on the desk, observing him, assessing him. Tommen focused his eyes on the large lion ring on one of Lord Tywin’s fingers. The prince didn’t think he could be a lion. He wasn’t, he _knew_ he wasn’t.

“You still haven’t given me three reasons why I should not hurt Lady Sansa.”

The prince almost sprang up from his seat and gulped, staring at his grandfather in complete shock. He thought he had when Lord Tywin changed topics and asked the other questions. Everything else didn’t matter as much as keeping Sansa safe… Well, as safe as she could be in King’s Landing.

“She’s a highborn lady and it’s bad manners to hurt a lady.”

“It didn’t stop your brother.” The Lord Hand dismissed it.

Tommen wanted to point out that Lord Lannister was _nothing_ like King Joffrey but he knew that saying that would not help him. His grandfather wanted a reason. There really wasn’t anything else he could think of.

“She’s my soulmate,” he whispered softly.

“And what would you do to keep your soulmate out of harm’s way?”

That was a good question. Tommen knew that he couldn’t do much. This situation proved it. Sansa deserved someone stronger and braver who could protect her and keep her safe and be her friend and even a lover and a husband. She was two years older than Tommen, she was almost a woman. And what had she gotten? _Him_. The only thing Tommen could offer was his devotion.

“Well?”

“I’d do anything,” the young prince decided. “I’d take her place to spare her any hurt.”

“How would you explain it, my prince? Would you come to stand in front of the whole court and tell them the truth? That she brought you colors and that you would bear any punishment in her place? Are you brave enough to face them all – the Kingsguard, the courtiers, your brother, and mother?”

Tommen swallowed. He hadn’t been brave enough, before. He had been scared and couldn’t look s they had hurt her. He had later cried, away from everyone, and wished to be a better man who was not afraid of so many things. “Yes.”

“Well, then,” said his grandfather and Tommen was surprised to hear a smile in his voice. He looked up and saw the Lord Hand nod in approval. “You said you didn’t know how to be a lion. Think about your soulmate and there you have your answer. Do what it takes to protect what’s yours and don’t ever concern yourself with the opinions of mindless sheep. That’s what lions do.”

It sounded so easy and for his grandfather, it probably was. Tommen couldn’t imagine anyone saying no to Lord Tywin, anyone disrespecting him, or mocking him, or overlooking him. His grandfather was clever, cunning and dangerous. For a man like him, it was easy to be a lion.

“What do you want most in the world, my prince?” he asked next.

That was a stupid question and Tommen wasn’t sure why his grandfather had asked. Wasn’t it obvious? Tommen wanted what all people seeing colors wanted but he knew he would never get it. He wasn’t enough for his own family to treat him like he mattered, why would Sansa? She probably didn’t even know that _he_ brought her colors. She had met Joffrey at the same time and had been in love with his awful brother ever since. She told it to everyone who was willing to listen. _King Joffrey is my one true love_. Not Tommen. Joff.

“You know the answer,” he said, slightly irritated that his grandfather was making fun of him.

“Careful now, your claws are showing, little cub,” murmured Lord Tywin and the prince glanced up at him, surprised.

“There is Lannister blood in your veins,” he continued and pinned Tommen with his gaze. “Your lessons with a maester of my selection and your training with my Master-at-Arms starts tomorrow. There won’t be an hour of your time when you won’t be hard at work. You’ll hate me for it but you’ll learn. Show me you can roar and I’ll give you what you want, my prince. If you prove to be a man capable of holding the North together, you’ll marry Sansa Stark.”

Tommen’s mouth was hanging open at the end of Lord Tywin’s speech and he looked at his grandfather blankly. Did he really mean? Did he think that Tommen could be the man to pacify the North as Sansa’s husband if something happened to King Robb? But… Of course, something was going to happen to the King in the North. The Stark King had evoked the fury of Tommen’s grandfather and Lannisters always paid their debts. The King in the North would die and Sansa would marry and… Tommen had to make sure that she would marry him. There wasn’t any other way to protect her, was there?

He closed his mouth. Grandfather had been right. There was Lannister blood in his veins – he wasn’t a Baratheon, he knew that he was a _full_ Lannister. A lion. And he had a purpose.

Tommen was going to learn to roar.


	2. A golden cub, splattered with crimson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommen sharpens his claws and Tywin tries his hand at parenting again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m very sorry for the delay, I was honestly distracted by my other works and tried to write the second chapter from Sansa’s POV. It didn’t work… So, I present another peek into Tommen’s mind.

The first order of business, Tommen decided, was to act as if nothing had changed. The rest of the family didn’t need to know about his determination to be a lion and he wouldn’t change his behavior around them. They would probably laugh at him if they knew, anyway. Joffrey would mock him and his mother would be amused and would give him a pat on the head, smiling indulgently. They would not take him seriously. The very idea was ridiculous. Prince Tommen – the Roaring Lion? He was having trouble believing it himself. He wouldn’t get a nickname like that. Maybe the Toothless Lion after his great-grandfather Tytos or they wouldn’t call him ‘Lion’ at all.

But then his grandfather’s voice would echo in his mind and he would see Sansa’s beautiful face contorted in pain with tear tracks on her cheeks, and he would nod to himself. He would square his shoulders and held his head higher. He would not avoid eye contact. He would walk in the middle of corridors, not skulk near the walls.

He was a prince, the heir. People should be worried about getting in _his_ way, as had grandfather stressed out.

Tommen tugged at his collar. He was currently standing in the mud of the training grounds, looking up at the darkened skies. There were dark clouds promising heavy rain and he shivered. As a child, he had been scared of the thunder and lightning and it still made him uncomfortable.

Lord Tywin had told him he would oversee his very first lesson with a sword, so he was waiting patiently for him. Tommen’s first instinct had been to hide near the back but he had forced himself out into the open, knowing Lord Tywin’s probable reaction. Lions were proud creatures that had no need to hide. He felt the gazes of other men at his back, however, and heard them chuckle and whisper among themselves. The prince wondered if they were laughing at him. Tommen wouldn’t be surprised – he felt like an idiot in his heavily padded training clothes that had arrived in his room that morning. It meant that he was going to be using a wooden sword first. Children used them and he was almost thirteen. He should have been already good enough to wear real armor and spar with a blunted sword.

A noticeable hush fell around the courtyard. Lord Tywin strode through the open space and Tommen watched him with furrowed brows, biting his lower lip thoughtfully. Every single man in the training grounds stopped to bow or even kneel to his grandfather and murmur a greeting. How did he do that? Lord Tywin’s presence alone commanded respect. Tommen sighed – his grandfather moved with purpose and self-confidence and people noticed that, reacted to it. He wished he could one day be able to inspire such deference, too.

“My lord,” he said, giving a deep, respectful bow.

“My prince,” Lord Tywin nodded at him, lips pressed in a thin line. “I see you aren’t prepared. Where is his sword?”

He turned to look questioningly at a tall and muscular man next to him. He wore steel armor of a Lannister soldier and the hilt of his enormous greatsword was peeking over his right shoulder. The prince blinked, surprised – Tommen hadn’t even noticed anyone else following his grandfather, so caught up he had been in his musings.

“I have them here, my lord,” the man said and then focused on the prince, producing two wooden longswords. He gave a small bow, his dark eyes never leaving Tommen’s face. “My prince, I’m Dallen Hill and I’ll be your martial instructor for the foreseeable future.”

“Thank you, Ser Dallen,” said Tommen formally and swallowed. So this was Lord Tywin’s Master-at-Arms here in King’s Landing. Ser Dallen must be a very good warrior to catch Lord Tywin’s attention, mused the prince. He probably could rip Tommen apart with his bare hands.

“With my lord’s permission, we’ll begin.” Ser Dallen looked at Tommen’s grandfather for a moment and receiving a short nod in return, offered one of the wooden swords to the boy. “Have you been taught any basics, my prince?”

Tommen took a deep breath and gripped the hilt in his gloved hand. He was well aware that Lord Tywin was watching and he didn’t want to disappoint him. However, he wasn’t sure he could _not_ be a disappointment for a man like Lord Lannister. Who would teach him to roar then? Could he even learn to do that? Tommen wasn’t sure but he so desperately wanted to. For Sansa, for himself – even for his grandfather who thought that the prince could.

“I know the necessary footwork, I think, and I’ve been shown the basic attacks and blocks,” he said and tried to speak clearly. He didn’t stutter. Good.

“Show me. En garde!”

Tommen took up the position reluctantly, his face turning red. Why was everyone else also watching? It was bad enough that his grandfather was observing him with his sharp eyes. He didn’t need the rest of the Lannister guards seeing him suffer through the first lessons.

“You need to move faster, my prince,” said Ser Dallen. “When you spot a threat, you need to adopt the position immediately. It must become one of your instincts. Now, try to parry.”

Ser Dallen lunged at his head, going at half-speed, and Tommen blocked him, taking a step back. The knight continued his attack, however, and Tommen was forced to block another lunge, at his right side and immediately after that at his leg. He managed to parry all of the blows without tripping over his own feet, to his utter surprise.

“You do know the basics and you are able to link movements together naturally,” observed Ser Dallen and glanced back at Lord Lannister. “I don’t see any reason why the prince hasn’t been trained since childhood. He knows how to move and he moves as well as any beginner would. It’s a shame he didn’t start his training earlier, there will be a lot of work to do.”

“Yes, indeed,” growled Lord Tywin and pinned Tommen under his furious gaze. “I expect you to do your best in all of your lessons, my prince.”

“I will, my lord.”

“Ser Dallen,” said his grandfather next. “I want him to be able to use a steel sword as soon as possible. Don’t coddle the prince. Teach him to fight. Am I clear?”

“As you wish, my lord,” confirmed the knight and glanced at Tommen. “Armor would unnecessarily hinder you in the beginning, my prince. You are not strong enough to wear it yet; we need to build up your strength and stamina first.”

“Also, armor can protect you against most sword attacks but you won’t be wearing armor every hour of every day, nor will all of your opponents use swords,” said Lord Tywin dismissively. “Teach him to dodge, Ser Dallen. I want my grandson to be able to survive both on a battlefield and out of it.”

“Of course, my lord.” Ser Dallen gave the prince a look of pity and told him, “There will be bruises, my prince.”

Tommen swallowed and nodded. Better him than Sansa. He needed to be able to fight – how he could protect his soulmate otherwise? Not only that, he needed to learn how to be cunning and clever like his grandfather so he could protect her even against unseen threats. If not him, who else?

The skies opened and heavy rain started. The prince was soaked in a moment but he gripped the wooden sword and stood on guard. The determination was burning brightly inside of him, his chest felt too tight even. “Do your worst, then.”

He could take it. He would. He had to.

***

Ser Pounce was licking the tips of Tommen’s fingers but the prince was only distractedly petting his cat. He was sitting in an alcove built into one of the keep’s high walls, out of the sunlight and hidden from sight. It was his favorite hiding place, his sanctuary. He could sit there and just be himself. The fact that the alcove overlooked the gardens was an added bonus.

The boy’s eyes were glued to the scene below him. It so happened that directly under the alcove was Sansa’s favorite spot where she found _her_ sanctuary, where she hid from the cruelties of the court. He would watch her sit on a bench and embroider or talk to Uncle Tyrion’s mistress Shae, or read a book of poetry, and Tommen would be at peace.

“There you are hiding, my prince.”

He started when he heard Lord Tywin’s voice and Ser Pounce jumped up and then lazily skulked away. Tommen turned to look over his shoulder at the tall form of his grandfather and considered standing up and bowing. His body ached too much for that but he forced his heavy limbs into obeying him – very, very slowly.

“No need for that, Tommen,” said Lord Tywin abruptly and joined him in the alcove. He looked down and raised an eyebrow. “I can see why this is your favorite place in the keep.”

The prince blushed and observed his grandfather from the corner of the eye. Why was he here? No one came looking for Tommen in the quiet afternoon hours – even his lesson with Maester Crann was finally over and it had been torture. His hands had cramped after his morning training so much that he hadn’t been able to take any notes and the old maester had had him learn the most important facts by heart. He just wanted to be alone for a while and then he just wanted to fall headfirst into his bed and sleep and forget for a moment how high the price of becoming a lion was.

He was exhausted and hurting. He felt utterly helpless and useless and like the biggest disappointment to ever walked the lands of Westeros.

“Why don’t you go down and talk to your soulmate, my prince? It would cheer you up.” asked his grandfather in a voice that didn’t sound like he was mocking him. He should stop thinking about Lord Tywin so uncharitably – he was trying to help Tommen, after all. He sounded simply curious.

Tommen blinked as he thought about his answer. He hadn’t really tried to talk to Sansa since the moment of her betrothal to Joff. He hadn’t been able to bear it then and while he was stronger now… He touched gingerly the edge of his black eye and shook his head. “I don’t want Lady Sansa to see me like this.”

“Why?”

He frowned. It was hard to explain but when he looked back at Lord Tywin, he knew that he would have to find the words. He remembered their last private conversation when Lord Tywin had been testing him. Was this another test?

“I’m supposed to be able to protect her,” he said softly. “But I can’t even jump away when Ser Dallen swings his fist at me. I’m very bad at being a warrior, my lord, and I don’t want her to see me being so… weak.”

“Do not so easily admit your defeat. You are beginning to learn how to fight, my prince.” Lord Tywin’s voice was stern and he folded himself to sit next to him. Tommen gaped at the sight of the mighty Lord Lannister sitting on the ground.

His grandfather glanced around himself in distaste. “Tell me again why you haven’t been trained since childhood. Your brother, while neglecting his training altogether, is a competent fighter. Your father was a great warrior and your uncle is the best swordsman in Westeros. How could anyone possibly think that you would be useless?”

Didn’t his grandfather suspect anything? Hadn’t he heard the rumors? Or didn’t he believe them? His harsh words cut Tommen deeply as he mused about the family disgrace. He also remembered the very first and last lesson from his childhood. He had learned the footwork and the blocks from observing Joff’s training. When the time for him to pick up a sword had come… He flushed and wanted to shake his head.

“Speak up, boy, I don’t have the whole day.”

Oh, of course. The Lord Hand had more important tasks than to sit with Tommen in the dirt. He still didn’t understand why exactly was his grandfather keeping him company but he supposed he should tell him to save Lord Tywin precious time.

“King Robert came to that lesson,” he said. It had made Tommen so excited, so happy – Robert had hardly paid any attention to the royal children but that had been a special occasion. The king had prided himself on being a great warrior and had probably wanted his ‘sons’ to be like him. At that time, Tommen had wanted to be like the king. Well, maybe not that fat.

“He observed for a while and then he decided to mock duel with me,” he continued. He had to turn away from Sansa because he didn’t want to see her and remember that awful day. It could taint the perfect picture of her contentment while she chatted with her handmaiden.

“I think he was drunk. I hit him in the knee and he fell down and then he started to curse and yell at me, saying I was stupid and useless and dangerous – to myself as well as others and that it would be a waste of time to train me. I didn’t pick up a sword after that until yesterday.”

Lord Tywin was silent and Tommen didn’t dare to look at him. He stared instead at his shaking hands, baling them into fists. His knuckles were bruised from the hits he had received when he had been disarmed and seeing the blue shapes on them was strangely satisfying. He was learning to use a sword, despite King Robert’s wishes.

“What do you think is an important ability to have if you are dealing with politics, my prince?” he asked after a long, stifling silence. His voice was carefully blank and Tommen glanced at him. Lord Tywin was looking down, observing Lady Sansa with a detached expression.

“I… I’m not sure.”

“Try to think about it.”

“The ability to understand what’s going on even if the others try to obscure it.” Tommen made sure to have his intonation right. He was saying his answer, even though he wasn’t really sure it was the right one.

“Indulge me for a moment.” Lord Tywin smirked. “What was your father’s weapon of choice and how it differs from a sword?”

“He used a war hammer. According to him, it weighed 100 pounds or so… But I don’t think it really was that heavy. Not even Ser Gregor could swing that…” He scoffed and then noticed that his grandfather was giving him an amused look. “War hammers require blunt force to wield them and it’s hard to really control them once you start the swing. Swords are more precise and versatile and lighter, so they can be swung faster and you can change the direction mid-swing.”

“Yes. A hammer is good for only one thing – smashing things. Swords require more skill, especially against an opponent in armor. What does this knowledge tell us about King Robert’s fighting style?”

“He was relying on his physical prowess more than techniques. I attacked his knee – one of the weak points of any armor and he wasn’t able to block it. You can’t block low blows very well with a war hammer, the handle is made of wood and it would shatter… if you managed to reach with it down in time…”

“Look back on the day of your first lesson with your father. What did you do to him to anger the king so much?”

Tommen wanted to say that Robert wasn’t his father but he had been his king. Biting his lip, he took several deep breaths and tried to look at the scene without the hurt coloring the edges of the memory. “I embarrassed him.”

“Knowing the king, did he take it kindly?”

“No.”

“What did he do?”

Tommen closed his eyes. Robert’s face had been red, eyes bulging out of his head, and tiny drops of his saliva had been flying out of his mouth as he had yelled at Tommen. He had been so mad – the prince hadn’t understood it.

“He took his humiliation out on me,” he whispered finally, surprised when the realization hit him. He turned to stare at his grandfather, eyes wide. It hadn’t been his fault, he hadn’t been useless or stupid – he had just bested the drunkard and Robert hadn’t been able to take it like a man.

“So, my prince, you meant to tell me that on your very first attempt to swing a sword – a weapon that King Robert did not use himself because it would not yield the same results as mindlessly smashing breastplates with war hammers – you found the weakest spot in your easy reach to target, attacked it successfully and brought a renowned warrior down, am I correct?”

Well, Tommen hadn’t thought about it like that. “Yes.”

“How old were you, my prince?”

“Six.”

“There you go.” Nodding to himself, Lord Lannister smirked and leaned closer to Tommen. “Lannisters are usually proficient swordsmen – using one against a man in steel armor requires not only skills but also a good deal of cunning so you know when and where and how to attack. If the enemy doesn’t give you an opportunity, _create_ one. We do not swing hammers, or axes even though those weapons might seem to be the better choice on a battlefield. Some battles are not fought on open fields at all – and you don’t usually strap a battle ax to your belt when you go to dinner, do you?”

Tommen smiled slightly and shook his head. “I don’t usually strap a sword to my belt when I go to dinner either.”

Lord Lannister patted the hilt of his longsword with one hand and a raised eyebrow as if to say that one day, Tommen would. “Now, you do not have any excuse to fail, do you? If you could bring King Robert down at six, my prince, you could become as good as your Uncle Jaime with enough dedication. I expect you to excel.”

The prince blushed and nodded. When the Lord Hand presented it like that, he could even pretend for a moment that it was possible. He would like that – and he appreciated that his grandfather had taken the time to impart not one but two important lessons. He had taught him to look at people’s actions and understand their motivations so he wouldn’t be fooled in the future. He had also taught Tommen that the man who put the interests of his family first would always be better than the man who only thought about himself.

King Robert was dead. Even when Tommen had thought that he was his son, he hadn’t really mourned him.

Lord Lannister had taken time to train him and teach and sat in the dirt with him to help him see Tommen’s own worth – because Tommen was his family, the future of their house, and he expected the prince to excel. He believed in him and the prince honestly didn’t know how to repay that in any other way than to try his hardest.

***

“He’s strong.”

Tommen let the words wash over him. He was currently sprawled on his back and as he forced his eyes to open, he could see how blue the sky above him was. Had he lost consciousness? He wasn’t sure if the blow had knocked him out or not but the voices seemed to be talking about him as if he had just hit the ground.

The prince clenched his teeth together and rolled over. He propped himself up on his elbows and tried to breathe through the throbbing pain behind his eyes. He felt confused and couldn’t be certain who the voice belonged to and to whom it was speaking.

“Every other boy who gets knocked over doesn’t get up demanding to continue after it happens… But, look, my lord.” The voice was talking about him, he knew _that_.

He also knew that it probably wasn’t smart to try and sit. He did it, anyway. Tommen carefully kneeled and then sat back on his heels. He wiped off the blood from his face and tried not to stare at the crimson that now stained his hand. The first time he had bled, he had been fascinated with the color – it had perfectly reflected their family sigil.

“He never gives up.” The voice sounded impressed and this time, another responded.

“Of course, he’s a Lannister.”

Oh, it was his grandfather and Hill speaking about him. The prince grimaced and started to look around. Where was his sword? There. He reached for it, leaned the tip against the ground and used it to rise to his feet. It was a large training sword well suited for a grown man but he suspected that he had been given this one to make him grow stronger in a shorter amount of time. His arms usually ached after every training session.

Once he was sure he wasn’t going to keel over, Tommen nodded in thanks to his sparring partner and turned toward the voices.

Ser Dallen was watching him with arms crossed over his massive chest. There were days when Tommen thought he hated the man. The bastard-born warrior was utterly ruthless when it came to Tommen’s training. He had the prince train until Tommen vomited or couldn’t move a muscle, and until he ached all over. The men Tommen had to spar with were also under strict orders not to pull their punches. He always left the training grounds bruised at best, bleeding most usually and unconscious at worst. Still, the prince returned every day in his old, beaten training armor. His grandfather expected him to excel, after all.

Lord Tywin had his hands clasped behind his back and was looking Tommen over with an expressionless face – but his eyes weren’t as cold as when he disapproved of what he saw. Tommen took it as a sign that he wasn’t making a complete disgrace of himself this morning.

The prince tried to take a step in their direction. His body obeyed, surprisingly enough. He took another and gingerly made his way to them, sheathing his sword.

“My lord,” he said with a bow. Most of the pain turned into a dull sort of ache at the back of his skull. It would leave him once he rested. After almost five moons, his body was getting used to the regularity of physical exertion. He was glad that the morning was over, though. Tommen had an hour to eat and bath and then he had to report to Maester Crann for his afternoon lessons which would demand his absolute concentration. They were covering military strategy right now and he enjoyed the subject immensely.

Lord Tywin reached out to grasp his chin. He turned Tommen’s head to the side and then back and smoothed his thumb over the bruise forming on the prince’s cheek, carefully surveying the state of his face. It was an almost affectionate gesture, mused the young man in surprise and managed to suppress a grin. If he counted right, and Tommen was careful with these things, it was the fourth time when his grandfather had slipped and treated the prince with affection in the last moon.

“I’m told you are progressing well, my prince.” The hand fell away and his grandfather sounded pleased. Tommen maintained eye contact with him but he felt the tip of his ears redden. He had caught several glimpses of his grandfather’s form over the moons and he knew that Lord Tywin paid to his training close attention, yet he wasn’t near the level Tommen wanted to reach.

“Ser Dallen is overrating my abilities, my lord. I’m not really good at swinging a sword.”

Lord Tywin tilted his head to the side and Tommen flinched and then berated himself internally. Once a week, he would dine with his grandfather and Lord Tywin would quiz Tommen about what he had learned. He would also try to instill in Tommen how a proper Lannister was expected to act.

Flinching visibly was not acceptable. Undermining himself was disastrous.

“Power resides where people perceive it to reside.” Lord Tywin took off his cloak and unfastened his sword belt. “While modesty is a virtue well suited to a man of a low-born house, in a Lannister, it would be perceived as a weakness. It is not enough if you _are_ strong, you must _look_ the part. Let us see, my prince, how you have progressed.”

Tommen gulped as he watched his grandfather draw his sword and throw the scabbard away. One of their men caught it. Where did they all come from? There were two dozen men in gold and red surrounding the training grounds suddenly and Tommen had an unpleasant feeling that he was going to be humiliated beyond imagination.

He carefully thought about his possible response. Lord Tywin would not appreciate Tommen backing out of the match – not in front of all those men after he had just delivered the lesson about the perception of power. Then he considered his physical condition. He still had some energy left, he supposed.

He drew his own sword again and offered another bow to his grandfather. “As you wish, my lord.”

The Lord Hand nodded in approval once and they moved to the center of the grounds. The prince didn’t get any warning – Lord Tywin rained a quick series of blows on him as soon as he turned to face him. Tommen managed to block them all but slipped in the mud as he was backing away. He ended up sprawled on the ground. Before he could think, a heavy boot was fast approaching his face and Tommen had to roll away, jumping to his feet in the process.

He was slightly faster than his grandfather but he lacked both the strength and precision behind Lord Tywin’s blows. His grandfather didn’t allow him a moment of respite and Tommen was on the defense, always backing away, jumping out of the reach of the longsword the Lord Hand favored, or blocking as much as he could.

His grandfather was brutal. Perhaps the other Lannister men had been going easy on Tommen or perhaps it was the truth that men of their house were gifted swordsmen. He supposed that Ser Jaime had to have gotten his talent from somewhere, right? The prince managed to return two or three blows in a row but there simply wasn’t an opening for launching his counterattack properly – or at least he couldn’t see it, and he couldn’t come up with a way to create one either.

The match lasted only a few minutes – in the end, Lord Tywin knocked Tommen’s blade out of his hand and kicked the prince to the ground at the same time seemingly without any effort at all.

More than three dozen voices cheered and men clapped as the match ended. The crowd had gotten bigger.

Tommen remained on his back as the Lord Hand moved to stand over him. They were breathing heavily but unlike Tommen, his grandfather didn’t appear to be ruffled by the fight in the slightest – not a hair out of place, just a slight flush to his cheeks. The prince knew there wouldn’t be any cutting words directed at him but he was afraid that he would say how disappointing Tommen’s efforts were. The prince was doing his best but what if it wasn’t enough?

Lord Tywin watched him for a moment and then he reached down and pulled Tommen to his feet. “You did well, Grandson.”

The prince’s breath left him for a moment and he grinned as Lord Tywin clasped his shoulder before stepping away. That was the fifth time in the past moon. Tommen also couldn’t remember hearing those three words – _you did well_ – ever being directed at him with such casualness as if it was natural for Tommen to do well. He had the utmost respect for his grandfather and knowing that he was fulfilling Lord Tywin’s high expectations was so surprising… Being called a grandson was also a novelty that was unexpected but welcomed. Tommen was tired of being a prince and he hadn’t been a son in some time – perhaps he could manage to be a grandson, then. He would like that.

“Thank you, Grandfather.”

Lord Tywin regarded him silently for another moment before he turned on his heel and started to march away. The guard passed him back his belt with the scabbard and he fastened it and sheathed his sword. As if it was an afterthought, he called over his shoulder, “Ah, before I forget, my prince. I believe I’ll have another nameday present ready for you by tomorrow.”

He had already received a beautiful white destrier for his nameday’s present from Lord Tywin two weeks ago. It had been the only present he had gotten from his family – not that he had expected any better. Tommen bowed in thanks, staying silent. He wasn’t going to argue about another gift from the only man in the family who paid him any mind.

The prince became aware that some of the guards were still observing him and he squared his shoulders and followed in Lord Tywin’s footsteps at a slightly slower pace.

“Good match, my prince,” muttered Ser Dallen with a nod. The same murmurs echoed around Tommen as he walked, and the prince found himself returning little bows and nods from the men, quite bemused but pleased by the sudden praise and interest. The grin didn’t leave his face for the remainder of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little Tommen is growing up… For obvious reasons, we are moving further and further away from the canon and that includes the timeline. In regards to Tommen’s martial progress – has everyone ever wondered what has happened to Jaime’s genes? Both Joff and Tommen are pure Lannisters and I can’t remember them ever being shown as really good fighters while Jaime is a prodigy and the rest of the Lannisters are quite good and able to hold their own in a battle (I even googled details about Tywin’s brothers – Tygett was supposed to be also a very, very good warrior). Thanks for reading : )  
Next time: Sansa


	3. A lone wolf in a lion’s den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Tywin have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the long wait and I hope you’ll enjoy Sansa’s POV.

The study was different. Sansa was waiting for the Lord Hand by the window and watched the streets of King’s Landing. From up there, the city looked beautiful. No one would suspect what was hidden underneath the surface at first glance. Maybe not even at a second one.

She had been blinded by its splendor – and the colors – for long moons before she had finally understood the truth and by then it had been too late. The city was a prison. Her handsome prince who had brought her colors was a liar, a murderer, and a _pretender_. The moment Joffrey had taken her father’s head, Sansa had known with a dreadful certainty that he couldn’t have been the one. It went against every instinct to hurt one’s soulmate and Joffrey loved to see her in pain.

How blind she had been. How stupid. It should have occurred to her that the Crown Prince hadn’t been her soulmate when he had remained silent, when he had not spoken the words. She had thought him _shy_. Sansa closed her eyes and tried to push these thoughts from her mind. Her poor mind was in such a state of chaos that she didn’t know what to feel or think.

Her betrothal to the King had been broken just moments ago – quite publicly – but Sansa was used to humiliation. It was the acute pain of knowing that it didn’t actually matter that made it difficult to breathe. She knew what was going to happen now. They would pass her to another lord as if she was some object, a thing, not a person. It would be someone loyal to the King. She would still be Joffrey’s plaything and she would still be unable to do anything about the colors, about her _true_ soulmate.

There wasn’t a force in this world that would make Sansa acknowledge the truth publicly. She was not going to initiate the bonding, she was not going to approach him. It was a tradition that only after the couple evoked and accepted the bond between their souls the rest of the world was allowed to know. Otherwise, demons and witches and other evil beings could come and steal the colors away, leaving them forever cold and aching inside.

She needed to be careful not to draw attention to them, she had to protect him. Although the days of old magic were long gone, the fear of such a fate still remained deeply rooted among people – more so in the North – and it was considered bad manners to flaunt the soulbond before it had been acknowledged and accepted.

The only person who had known about Sansa’s colors had been her father. How she had begged him to let her stay in King’s Landing, using the colors as the final argument for the match between Sansa and Joffrey. _I love him, Father, he’s brought me colors_. Never had she been more wrong.

It hadn’t been Joffrey. When she had finally understood that hard truth, everything had already been destroyed – King Robert had been dead, her father had been murdered and she had been betrothed to a monster while her soulmate had watched from the sidelines with hurt and betrayal shining brightly is his emerald green eyes. She had known since that moment that he would not be evoking the words.

Sighing softly, she closed her eyes. She hadn’t seen Prince Tommen in several moons – since before the Blackwater. He didn’t usually attend the court but she had often caught him watching her from afar in the gardens or during the meals… but not anymore. His thirteenth nameday had passed just a fortnight ago and there hadn’t been a celebration – no feast, no tourney, nothing. The realm had forgotten its prince, overlooked him in favor of his elder brother… just like Sansa had done, just like the Queen had done. She hadn’t seen Tommen in the company of his mother for even longer.

Perhaps he had been sent away from King’s Landing – Sansa had to depend on overhearing any news by accident, no one bothered to tell her anything. If that was the case, she was happy for him. The further away he was from her, the less she could hurt him. Ironically, Sansa was the traitor among the Starks – she had betrayed her bond before it had even been formed.

“Lady Sansa,” greeted her Lord Lannister unexpectedly. She hadn’t heard him enter the study.

“Good evening, my lord.” Sansa whirled to face him and dropped a curtsey. The Lord Hand’s presence was making her uncomfortable – his face resembled a mask made of stone and he was watching her with a shrewd glint in his eyes. That was the most disturbing thing about Lord Lannister, Sansa decided. His eyes were the same shade of green like Tommen’s but held nothing of the prince’s warmth and friendliness.

He went to sit around his desk and made himself comfortable. For several moments, he shuffled the parchments in front of him. Sansa cleared her throat. The tension in the air was palpable but she wasn’t sure how to diffuse it.

“You may sit if you want.” Lord Lannister didn’t even glance up and she hesitated for a moment before she sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Sansa had a sinking feeling that the meeting was about her future in King’s Landing, about the next husband to be.

When he rearranged the parchments to his satisfaction, the Lord Hand put both his hands on the desk palms down and looked Sansa calmly in the eyes. “I’ll skip the pleasantries, my lady, we have both had a tiring day. How does the North treat soulmates?”

Her heart stopped, then it lurched and then it started hammering painfully. Did he suspect? But that was impossible!

“There isn’t a too great difference between the South and the North, I believe.”

“Isn’t there?” He pinned her underneath his stare.

“Any maester knows better than me, my lord.” She was not going to put Tommen at risk, the question was dangerous and answering it was the last thing she wanted. It would draw attention to the fact that Sansa _knew_ the differences well for someone who was not supposed to be interested in such things – unless her soulmate was of the South and she needed to be aware of them.

“But why would I ask a maester when I have a northern _princess_ at my disposal?” Lord Tywin’s lips lifted up in a small smirk and he raised one eyebrow. “Do educate me. How the North treats soulmates.”

He wasn’t asking this time. Sansa remained silent for several long moments, just looking back at him. She had the feeling that he saw right through her, that he was only manipulating her into admitting the truth. She still had to try, though. Perhaps a general answer would suffice.

“In the North, an acknowledged soulmate bond annuls any previous commitments in the eyes of the Old Gods and law – betrothals, marriages, everything.”

“Ah,” he said and the smirk widened. “It is not so down here, is it?”

“I don’t believe so.” It wasn’t. In the North, it was believed that the Old Gods sent the colors to the couples and separating them was unthinkable. The population in the South was larger, their chances of seeing the world in colors so much smaller than in the North. People down here couldn’t afford to wait even for a moment and betrothal contracts and marriage vows made before one met their soulmate took precedence. The New Gods preferred their followers to keep the vows already made in their names to an unformed bond.

The colors would stay but that was the only thing that would come out of the unaccepted bond. There would be no sharing of senses or memories. The bond would remain dormant and the two people would continue to live their lives separately, longing for something that could never be. It was less disruptive to the society and order, it kept alliances intact and the realm stable. It was what Sansa had planned to do. Prince Tommen couldn’t be tied to a traitor’s daughter, could he? She was not going to hurt him any more than she already had.

“And loyalty pledges, Lady Sansa? Family ties? How does that work in the North?”

Sansa bit her tongue and avoided those piercing eyes so very like her soulmate’s and yet so different. She believed that it was the same everywhere. “It’s considered dishonorable to force a person to choose between the loyalty to their lord or family and their mate.”

“Why?”

“Everyone knows that the mate takes priority. _Always_. Isn’t it the same here, my lord?”

“Only a stupid or mad man would try to interfere with an acknowledged soulbond,” said Lord Lannister softly and when she glanced at him, she was surprised to see a faraway expression in his eyes. It made him look like a human. It disappeared quickly enough and he pursed his lips together and glared at her. As if he was aware of his slipping mask and blamed her.

“You see colors. Who is the responsible one?”

The tension in the study became unbearable and Sansa shrank slightly away from the cold, harsh tone. Her voice trembled as she answered, “I don’t understand what you mean, my lord.”

“Tell me his name or I’ll have you pray for death. If you think for a moment that the boy who sits on the throne has managed to hurt and humiliate you, you should dread the things I will put you through if you don’t tell me. Now.”

Sansa swallowed heavily and her eyes watered. The very idea of what Joffrey had done to her – the beatings, the degradation – was horrible but the King had not _broken_ her. Maybe he had damaged her but Sansa had survived everything the monster had put her through. She had no doubt that the Lord Hand would be true to his word, though. His threats weren’t empty promises, they were real and palpable; the proofs of his ruthlessness was still visible where the ruins of his enemies’ castles scarred the land. But she would not say – only the gods knew what Lord Lannister would do to Tommen, how he could use the information.

“Do your worst, then,” she said with conviction that surprised even Sansa. She had always been the gentle little lady, the mild-mannered, kind girl – but the very idea of the sweet, innocent boy who had brought her colors with a shy smile being hurt because of her was unbearable.

“Good.” Lord Lannister leaned back in the char and in the blink of an eye, some of his fierceness fell away, leaving him looking more or less self-satisfied. “Do you realize that your bonding with my younger grandson is the only thing that can bring us peace before this war completely destroys the realm?”

She truly had been manipulated but for an entirely different reason. It took her a moment but she spluttered disbelievingly, “You were testing me?!”

“I was and I’m pleased to see that you have a basic knowledge of how evasion should work and are aware when someone tries to manipulate you. Your loyalty to Tommen is also noted. However, I do not appreciate your little growls. Mind your tone in the future, Lady Sansa.”

They stared at each other and Sansa’s breathing hitched when she realized how discourteous and unladylike her behavior was. Had she learned nothing? She had raised her voice at the Lord Hand. He could make her bleed for it. Trembling, she whispered, “I offer my apology, my lord, I shouldn’t have spoken to you so.”

“Spare me the nonsense, Lady Sansa.” Lord Lannister scoffed. “I’d prefer you and Tommen to always speak your mind – in a respectful manner if you can manage. We are going to be allies, after all… unless you would prefer to be wedded to someone else and used as a puppet for the rest of your life, of course.”

She wouldn’t like that, Sansa mused, and then she registered what he had said. How did Lord Lannister know the truth? Sansa’s mind whirled as she watched the stoic man in front of her. His face was impassive and he returned her stare calmly, observing her reactions unimpressed. She was confused and couldn’t seem to grasp how the conversation could take such a sudden turn from threats to talks of alliances. One thing was certain, though. She needed an ally, desperately – her family needed all the help they can get and Tommen… There was also the matter of the young prince.

“Where’s the prince? I haven’t seen him in several moons,” she said without responding to his question. It seemed imperative to know.

“I am making certain that when the time comes, Tommen would not disgrace me the way the rest of my offspring has done.” Something in his eyes shifted at those words and Sansa reflexively leaned closer in her chair to better hear his next words. “I do believe that there is hope for him yet – as there is for you. How old are you, lady Sansa?”

“Fifteen, my lord.”

The Lord Hand grimaced. “Ah, but it seems we do not have much time, then.”

Sansa stared at the man and couldn’t make a sense of anything that was leaving his mouth. She felt tired. She felt scared for Tommen’s fate. She felt scared for her own future. Nothing in the last minutes made any sense.

“I’m honestly afraid I don’t follow you, my lord.” The Queen often called her naïve and stupid, just an empty-headed girl with a pretty face. Sansa often wondered if the Queen was right. She had been stupid and naïve – and right now it looked like she hadn’t learned anything in the two years she had spent in King’s Landing.

“No?” he asked softly. “Indulge me, my lady, and try to imagine you are a northern lord, a bannerman in your brother’s army.”

“If it would please you,” Sansa breathed out, disliking where the conversation was going now. She tried not to think about her brother and the lack of _rescuing_ Robb was currently exhibiting. It was perhaps unfair – she had no idea what he was doing, she just knew that his every victory meant one more beating for her.

“It will. Now, there is a boy king who took the head of your beloved liege lord on nothing more but a whim and has your princess, _an heir_ to your own king, as a hostage in his grasp. The boy-king beats the girl – there is no way it can be overlooked. Many eyes are watching and some are passing the information along. What would you as a loyal bannerman do?” Strangely enough, there was something in the Lord Hand’s demeanor that made his words seem less mocking. It was the truth, and he was infuriated by the whole madness and stupidity and the pointlessness of it all.

“Go to war,” whispered Sansa, thinking about her brother and mother and the men of the North she remembered from her childhood. But they hadn’t come for her, had they? Otherwise, they would have tried to do something other than raid Westerlands and camp their armies around Riverrun. Sometimes, Sansa’s reputation as being simpleminded paid off. People often forgot that she had ears and could hear them discussing the current situation if she was careful enough. It was the only way she could obtain any information, really.

“Quite reasonable, isn’t it? I have done the same for _my_ family. But imagine that your princess and the boy king’s brother prove to the world that they are soulmates and the princess is suddenly safe and protected.”

Safe? Protected? Sansa didn’t know how that felt. “I can’t.”

“Can’t you or won’t you? What would the reaction of the loyal bannerman be now?” Lord Lannister looked at her without blinking but his general demeanor had changed, Sansa noticed. He didn’t seem so hard, so unreachable. He looked almost expectant as if leading her to the right answers gave him a sense of satisfaction. Perhaps it did.

“I suppose I would be torn between traditions and loyalty. The winter is coming and the war is taking too long. I need to prepare my household, take care of my people. The war becomes suddenly pointless.”

“Would you break the bond?”

“Never.”

“Would you harm the boy king’s brother?”

“No.”

“There you go, Lady Sansa. Do you understand why it might be good for us to be allies?” He stood and moved to the side table standing in the corner of his study. He poured two cups of fine wine and passed her one. “What are your mother’s family words?”

“Family, duty, honor,” Sansa said automatically and then winced when she caught up on his meaning.

“Does family war against family?”

“No.”

“There’s the answer how would your brother – the King in the North – react.”

Sansa took a careful sip of her wine and glanced at the Lord Hand. He hadn’t return behind his desk but stood towering above her, still observing her so closely. She was walking on very thin ice – the man was still testing her. What would happen should she fail? Whose life it would be at stake? Sansa’s? There was also Tommen – and her mother and her brother. The Starks had set themselves for failure, she was beginning to understand. Robb was a good strategist but in the end, he lacked the experience and cunning of the Great Lion and with the summer ending, Robb’s position would soon become unattainable. The war needed to end while there still was something to salvage.

“You want to use me and Tommen to broker peace with the North and then use them to end Lord Baratheon and Greyjoy.”

“There are several things fundamentally wrong with what you just said.” Lord Lannister shook his head and returned to his seat. “Think about your answer again.”

There was no doubt anymore – the Lord Hand was teaching Sansa, however improbable it seemed. He had tested her, he had challenged her, he had wanted her to reach the right conclusions. She bit her lip and forced herself to _think_. Why had he bothered in the first place? What was his purpose? She went over their entire encounter, word for word, as he coaxed the slumbering wolf in her to show its teeth. Then the answer came to her quick as lightning. He had already told her, quite plainly, what he wanted. Sansa was just so unused to honesty that she had not believed it.

“If I know what your aim is and I work with you, you are hardly using me. We are allying ourselves together.” Who would want to have a timid puppy for an ally? Lord Lannister wanted to see if there was any Stark blood in Sansa and she had involuntarily shown him that she wasn’t completely dumb and useless. She had shown him the wolf.

The Lord Hand nodded once and gestured for her to continue.

“Also, the North would appreciate help with the Ironborn invading our coastline.” Sansa took a deep breath. “In return, it would seem only fair for the North to help you deal with Lord Baratheon. Marriage between the heirs apparent of the Iron Throne and the North would cement the alliance and the fact that we are soulmates would ensure that Tommen is not harmed by Northerners and I cannot be touched by Southerners any longer.”

“Yes.” Lord Lannister sipped his wine with a small smile, eyes glinting. “Despite what people say about you, Lady Sansa, you are capable of being a formidable player in this game we are amusing ourselves with.”

“It’s a horrible game.”

“Yet it is necessary to participate. If you don’t play, you still die and put in danger those around you with your ignorance.”

Sansa turned away from the Lord Hand, her father’s face flashing before her eyes. He had been so good, so noble and honorable. In his unawareness of the game, he had _started_ the war, her family falling into disgrace and the realm descending into chaos.

“Why should I trust you?” she asked. “My father’s trust in the wrong people killed him. King’s Landing is full of liars, cheaters and oath breakers and you are the enemy of my family. You would see my brother dead if you could.”

“Oh, I can and I will if he continues to behave unreasonably. However, if you beat your enemy into submission and he bends the knee, help him up, raise him as your ally. That’s how you ensure this world is not completely destroyed by petty vengeance,” said Lord Lannister. “You are older than Tommen and you understand slightly better what is going on around you. I could manipulate you, use you as my pawn. Or…”

“Or?” Sansa was entranced. Never before had anyone treated her like she could have a say in her life, like she could have the power to decide her own fate – and protect those she loved. Was he being honest? She wasn’t sure but it would be interesting to wait and see.

“You are strong and clever, lady Sansa, and you might be married to my grandson. My line could continue through you. We can work together and prepare for the winter, limit the damage to the lands and ensure that there is something left standing after the snow melts.”

Now it was Sansa who observed him carefully. Lord Lannister’s mask wasn’t as firmly in place as he would like – something was shining through. Or perhaps he let her see, she couldn’t be sure. He spoke about the future – not about tomorrow, or next year, or next decade. He spoke about the next generations. He was an old man, after all, and he did little to hide his disappointment with his children and King Joffrey.

“If you were in King’s Landing when my father was arrested, what would you have done with him?”

The Lord Hand tilted his head to the side before he answered, “If I were present in the capital at that time, a great many things would have been different. Are you asking if I would have taken your father’s head? No. His death was a senseless waste. Would that suffice?”

She nodded silently. Lord Tywin Lannister was a pragmatic man and he expected his legacy to continue through Tommen and Sansa, through _their children_ who would wield a great deal influence over large amounts of lands as the descendants of both Starks and Lannisters with ties to the Iron Throne and the King of Winter.

“Very well, then.” He rose and it forced Sansa to her feet. “Let us wait for a week or so for the court to settle before the news of your betrothal to Prince Tommen will stir it up again.”

“You speak as if the prince is going to agree to marry me,” Sansa said haltingly. She doubted Prince Tommen would want to be anywhere near her but she also hoped that… The way Lord Lannister had been putting it, it was an accomplished fact. Her heart skipped a beat at that thought.

“Ah, the folly of youth.” To her surprise, the Lord Hand cracked an honest smile at that and escorted her to the door. “While he might be young, there is nothing in the world my grandson wants more than you, Princess Sansa.”

She curtsied, Lord Lannister gave a slight bow and then she was outside of the door and two Lannister guards were accompanying her to her room. Only when she reached it, she realized that the man had used the word _princess_ to address her, even twice, and she shook her head, laughing to herself. It seemed that Lord Lannister was determined to have his descendants married into as many royal families as he could manage.

Wouldn’t it have been easier to just declare the ancient Kingdom of the Rock restored and become its King? She had a feeling that in the current political situation, no one would be strong enough to oppose him. Or better yet, Joffrey should hand over the crown to his grandfather and spare them all those horrible troubles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more time – sorry for the delay, I couldn’t update on my trip and then I got distracted by ‘Blood of the Wolf.’ If you like soulmate stories, you are welcome to check that one out, makes me insanely proud to write something so challenging. Also, I hope this chapter wasn’t too info-dumping (is that a word?) and that you liked Grandpa Ty looking out for his little cub.  
Next: Tommen roars! Yaaay! I’m so excited about what’s coming!


	4. Claws long and sharp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommen and Sansa acknowledge their bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! And I’m so excited about this chapter, so please enjoy :)

Tommen felt rage. For the first time in his young life, the prince was seething with anger and he wasn’t sure he liked the feeling – it was very unlike him. The waves of emotion were seeking relief and he knew that the only way to calm it, to stop the burning, was to let go, to roar and growl and claw at all around him.

He also knew that it was _unacceptable_. Lannisters didn’t act like mindless beasts. His grandfather had often stressed it out and warned Tommen to be always in control of his emotions and to avoid rushing into things blindly like his… like Ser Jaime often did.

With Lord Tywin’s lessons in mind, the prince strode silently into the throne room and stopped short at the scene before his disbelieving eyes. Joffrey had done it again and Tommen felt like running his sword through his elder brother and King.

Sansa was kneeling with her dress torn down before the steps, covering what was left of her modesty with the shreds of her gown. Silent tears were streaming down her face and her back – Tommen felt his jaw clench as he ground his teeth and fisted his hands – her back was a mess of bruises and cuts. She had been flogged.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked and his words somehow carried to every corner of the hall. His voice didn’t break, he didn’t stutter – he spoke calmly and with precision. Heads turned to look at him, faces surprised, eyes widening upon seeing _who_ had spoken with such authority.

His new clothes were surprising to most. They were done in dark somber colors – he had already outgrown his old gaudy ones and had decided to adopt his grandfather’s less flashy and pretentious style. His doublet was black with a crown sewn over his heart, and he wore high boots and a broad golden belt with a dagger strapped to it, looking every ounce the young heir to the Iron Throne.

It was his posture, however, that made the courtiers so uncertain about what changes exactly the young prince had gone through. Tommen stood with his back straight, shoulders thrown back, and his head held high as he stared at the figure lounging on the throne on the dais. The tips of Tommen’s ears were burning at all the attention but then again – his whole face was flushed in anger and his eyes were flashing.

“Tommen?”

He only glanced at the Queen Regent. His mother was standing close to Joffrey, one hand clutching at her chest and the other curled around one of the sword hilts forged into the throne. There was a shocked expression on her face. The prince ignored her and started to take measured steps closer. The courtiers were moving out of his way as if he was a mighty knight – Tommen liked to think that he tried his hardest to imitate his grandfather and wasn’t doing a poor job of it.

The Lord Hand was standing on the other side of the throne, slightly further away from the King with hands clasped behind his back. Catching Lord Tywin’s eyes, he nodded his thanks for summoning him. Grandfather had been right, Tommen wanted to be present when his soulmate was abused and he wanted – _needed_ – to be the one to put a stop to it.

This wasn’t a test anymore. It was the moment that would define Tommen’s life and future. It was time, the prince decided, to step out of his brother’s shadow and to show them all the simple truth. The younger prince too had claws and they were sharper and longer than Joffrey’s. Unlike his brother, Tommen deserved to wear the red and gold, the proud sigil of their grandfather’s house, he deserved to be a lion because he knew how a Lannister, a man, a knight should act.

The only thing the prince now needed to do was to _start_ acting like one. The fury singing in his veins helped, chasing away all his doubts and insecurities. It was simple, really. Sansa was hurt and Tommen had to stop it. No one would hurt his soulmate as long as he drew breath, he growled inside his mind with determination. Lord Tywin had been right all those moons ago. Thinking about Sansa was making him think like a lion and Tommen could see himself easily roaring his fury at any moment.

“Little brother, my, my… you have… grown,” smirked the King in his usual high-pitched voice. The King was supposed to be an adult yet he still sounded like a child – and acted like a spoiled brat.

Tommen walked close to Sansa. She didn’t raise her head but he could feel that she was looking at him from the corner of her eye. He stopped, his gaze momentarily taking in the amount of damage done to her body. It would scar, he seethed internally. There would be scars on her back. He glowered at Ser Meryn and the Kingsguard took an involuntary step back before bowing out of the prince’s way.

There would be a debt to pay and Tommen would collect, he promised himself as he unclasped his cloak and settled it around Sansa’s shoulders. His action earned him a startled gasp from the lady and their eyes met for the briefest of moments before she demurely looked down, murmuring her thanks softly.

He could feel the tension and shock in the crowd. His cloak was red with a large lion sigil sewn onto it on the back and small crowns on the hem. Tommen considered himself a Lannister and considered himself also the heir to the throne because if he ever acknowledged the ugly truth, he would endanger his family – but there was no way he would ever display Robert’s sigil. He would leave that mummery to Joff and the only nod to his late ‘father’ Tommen was willing to make was wearing the Baratheon colors – black suited blond men fine and he had every right to wear gold proudly.

His cloak, of course, also strongly resembled a ceremonial wedding one, and the gesture signaled that a man brought his beloved under his protection. The symbolism hopefully didn’t escape most of the people – and if it did, Tommen would gladly remind them later.

The shock left people speechless. Joffrey gaped at him, the Queen was stunned and the Lord Hand was smirking slightly. Tommen liked to think that his grandfather approved.

Turning away from his soulmate, he ascended the steps and stopped, simply looking down at Joffrey, and waited in silence. The tactic always worked when Lord Tywin had used it. Tommen knew; he had been watching him using it for long moons to intimidate and control not only the courtiers and guards but also the King.

After a second, Joffrey sat upright on the ugly chair he called the throne and the smirk left his face. “What?”

“Do I need to repeat my question?” asked Tommen idly and his eyes flicked between Joffrey and the Queen. He wasn’t sure what her expression meant now. She was looking at Tommen as if she had never seen him before, with disbelief, shock and perhaps a little bit of wonder.

The prince wondered for a moment if that was true. Had his mother never paid him much attention? Had she never seen in him who he could be? Perhaps she hadn’t. Tommen wasn’t deaf and as his grandfather reassured him with every test the prince had passed, Tommen wasn’t stupid either. The Queen had favored her eldest son because she believed that Joffrey was the perfect heir to the throne, that he was strong and fierce and brave. She had loved Tommen, long time ago, but had seen her younger son just like everyone else – as the weak one, the meek and gentle thing without a voice or claws or mind of his own. His grandfather was the only in the family who had taken time to teach Tommen how to be a man, a warrior, a prince.

“I was punishing a traitor…” started the King obnoxiously.

“You were beating a lady of noble birth,” interrupted him Tommen. “A lady who is – I remind you – a guest in our care.”

“A guest?!” shrieked Joffrey. “She’s nothing but a filthy traitor’s daughter and a sister to another one!”

“She’s a sister to a king with whom we are at war with thanks to your stupidity, brother. It goes against common sense to anger the North further by beating the heir to their crown publicly. How are you expecting them to agree to a cessation of hostilities if you act like a fool?”

“You call me stupid? You want to sue for peace with those barbarians!? That’s treason and I can have you beheaded, little brother!” Joffrey stood up and shoved Tommen down the dais.

Everything happened very quickly. The Queen cried out and tried to catch Joffrey’s arm while trying to reach out for Tommen to stop his fall. The Lord Hand moved forward with a scowl. Tommen allowed the force of the push to move him but pivoted on his heel, never losing his balance. The same couldn’t be said about the King who – not meeting the expected resistance – flew past Tommen and almost fell on his face on the steps.

Tommen smirked when he saw the Tyrells and their expressions. Lady Olenna had just finished an eye-roll and was looking at the disgraced king as if he was something unpleasant she had stepped into. Ser Loras was trying to hide his laughter behind his palm and winked at Tommen. Now that was slightly disconcerting. However, the way Lady Margaery was seizing the young prince up made Tommen downright uncomfortable. There was something predatory in her gaze.

Sansa’s eyes on him, on the other hand, made Tommen feel ten feet tall. He glanced at her, smiling briefly, and his soulmate returned it shyly.

His grandfather raised an eyebrow at him, but eyes held an approving spark. A small gesture of his hand invited Tommen to deal with the situation on his own. The prince nodded once, recognizing it for what it was. The Lord Hand _trusted_ him to play and he had no intention to disappoint him. You won or you died, after all.

“Guards!” yelled Joff when he finally regained his balance, down under the steps. Whirled around and pointed a finger at Tommen. “Seize him! He attacked me! You attacked your king!”

“I did no such a thing,” he responded calmly, crossing his arms over his chest as he put most of his weight on his right leg – the one that had moved to the last step where the Iron Throne stood. It was a calculated move on Tommen’s part, the very first one he had done in the awful game of thrones. It very nicely informed all those present where things stood – from down there, he looked like _the king_, about to just sit down on _his_ throne.

“Come here, my king,” said the Queen, finally finding her voice. She hurried after Joffrey when his face turned purple as he finally noticed that the guards failed to comply. “It was just an unfortunate accident, no need to call for guards, is there? I’m sure Tommen didn’t mean it.”

She threw a look at her younger son as she pulled the elder one by his arm up the dais. “Isn’t it so, my love?”

Tommen gracefully moved out of their way with a slight bow – as if he let his brother to sit back on the throne. “I cannot control my brother’s actions but of course, I didn’t want him to almost fall, Mother.”

That wasn’t the answer she was expecting, he guessed when her lips pursed into a thin line. “That is enough, Tommen.”

“I agree, Mother,” he said with a small bow and turned to look at his brother. “That was the last time you have ordered a brutal, vicious and unprovoked attack on Lady Sansa.”

“You can’t speak to me like that,” hissed Joffrey, stood up again and shook off the Queen’s hand from his shoulder.

“My king, Tommen, please…”

“No, he can’t speak to me like that! I am the king and he has to show me respect or I’ll have _him_ flogged!”

“I wonder which of the king’s guards would dare to raise their hand against the heir to the throne,” mused Tommen unimpressed and stared at his brother. Joffrey wasn’t taller than him anymore. The King didn’t tower over the prince, their heights were matching.

“That reminds me… Ser Meryn?” Tommen didn’t wait for Joff to respond and turned to look down at the knight in gold and white, tilting his head to the side as he observed the brute.

“Yes, my prince?” There was a noticeable hesitation in the man’s voice as he bowed, not meeting Tommen’s eyes.

“If I see or hear that you or any other Kingsguard have touched Lady Sansa in a way unfitting for a noble knight…” he trailed off and waited until Ser Meryn lifted his head and Tommen continued, looking him in the eyes coolly, “I’ll remove the offending hand myself.”

Gasps were heard throughout the crowd before all fell silent.

“Yes, my prince.” Ser Meryn forced out through clenched teeth, pale, and bowed lower than before. Without looking at the King or the Queen, with his head still down, he retreated several more steps and fell in line with the other guards.

Tommen’s gaze strayed to Sansa briefly, noting how her eyes shone. Steeling his resolve for one more confrontation with his brother, the prince whirled towards the King.

“And if you even think about pointing that crossbow of yours in the general direction of Lady Sansa, my dear brother, I will kill you.”

“Tommen!” The Queen shot to him, seizing his arms as if to shake him. All around them, the courtiers began frantically whispering among themselves and all the guards uncertainly shifted their weights, hands resting on the hilts of their swords. There were eight Kingsguards and twenty faithful Lannister men. Tommen didn’t doubt whom the men in red and gold would support if his brother tried to call for his head.

“You traitor!” screamed Joffrey. “You can’t threaten me! Seize him! I want him in chains! Now!”

“You can’t mean that! Apologize to your brother the king at once!” His mother actually shook him. “You awful, disrespectful child! How has she tricked you to do this, Tommen? What has the whore done to you to beha-”

“Cersei!” thundered the Lord Hand, appearing to Tommen’s right and glaring at his daughter. “Unhand the prince at once. This is not behavior befitting the Queen Regent. I say let us hear what the young man has to say.”

He caught the Queen’s wrists and prided her away from Tommen. “My prince, perhaps an explanation would be in order before any more temper tantrums can be thrown around.”

Tommen looked up into his grandfather’s face, expecting to see disappointment; he had been carried away with his words, after all. He had just wanted to make sure that Joffrey actually understood that hurting Sansa would have consequences because Tommen would not let it stand, not any longer. He was therefore surprised to see that Lord Tywin’s eyes were full of mirth.

Why shouldn’t he be amused, though? Both Lord Lannister and the grandson he had chosen as his protégé were calm and collected while the Queen and the King were acting like fools ruled by their emotions. It was painful to witness his own mother making such a spectacle of herself but Tommen wasn’t surprised by Joff’s behavior in the slightest.

It sent a clear message about who held the true power in the throne room and it didn’t reside with those who wore the crowns.

“I will be well within my rights to duel you and kill you, Joffrey,” Tommen said to his brother, who had stopped shouting and gulped, seeing the very real threat in Tommen’s eyes. The king’s face turned pale when he noticed that not a single armed guard in the entire hall had moved to obey him.

“Not even the king is above the laws of the gods.” Tommen turned his back to the throne and his gaping, shaking brother, and slowly descended the steps, stopping in front of Lady Sansa.

He swallowed and hesitated, afraid to meet her eyes. He hadn’t seen her from this close in more than five moons – he had been a week child the last time he met her. At their age, such a long period of time brought changes to them, he knew. They were still growing and his soulmate looked as beautiful as ever but resembled a woman even more than before. In half a year, Sansa would be a legal adult, a woman grown while Tommen still had almost three years to go.

Her eyes were so blue the breath left him for a moment. He smiled and took careful hold of one of her hands, bowing over it. “My lady.”

“My prince.” Sansa gave him a watery smile in return, her eyes roving around his face as if she could hardly believe that he was truly standing before her about to do what he was about to do. Tommen’s hand skimmed the length of her elbow, noticing the blue marks on her skin, and then he looked into her eyes again. To his surprise, even Sansa was only slightly taller than him.

Her gaze never left him and Tommen saw something vulnerable and soft in her eyes – hope and longing he knew so very well. She was no longer betrothed to his awful brother and Lord Tywin had told him he had spoken to Sansa on Tommen’s behalf. She hadn’t seemed opposed to the idea of their match, his grandfather had said dryly.

Looking at her now, Tommen knew that this was the right time to face the whole world and tell them that this girl would be his wife and would bear his children one day, that this woman had brought him colors and he would gladly die for her and kill for her. He would defy the laws of men and the will of gods for this girl, his soulmate.

“Tommen, what are you doing? My darling, has she bewitched you-”

“No, Mother.” Tommen whirled to glare at the Queen Regent, Sansa’s hand settling on his arm comfortably. He hoped to grow a bit taller still but their heights were now so close that he didn’t feel ridiculous standing next to her. He looked at his grandfather, only for a moment, and received a subtle nod, a blessing.

“No,” he repeated. “I have been silent for too long, hoping that my brother the king would act with honor and grace but no more. I will not let it stand any longer. Let all of these people bear witness to this moment.”

Taking a deep breath and ignoring the rumors that had again started in the hall, Tommen turned to look at Sansa and gave her a nervous, sweet smile. Gone was the fierce lion of moments ago, and in his stead stood a boy with a golden heart. He had decided to take her pain for his own, he had decided to stand between her and danger, he had decided to face all the court for her. It seemed symbolic to declare himself in front of those who had been disrespecting them both for so long.

“From the very first moment my eyes rested on yours, the world has changed,” he said the first line of the traditional evocation words. All became silent, the whole world faded away, and Tommen wished with his whole being that Sansa would respond with the second line.

“The world is a dark place, a black and white place. How has it changed?” She was beaming at him and a fresh wave of tears streamed down her face. These were happy tears, though, and Tommen had to swallow before he could speak. His heart felt like bursting.

“The blue of the sky is the blue in your eyes. The red of fire is the red of your hair,” Tommen breathed out and his fingers rose and tangled in her auburn locks. The third and the fourth lines were confirming the gift the bond brought.

“The green of the land is the green in your eyes. The gold of the Sun is the gold of your hair.” Sansa touched the collar of his doublet, not brave enough to touch him in front of all those people who were gawking at them. Idiots, Grandfather would say.

“You bring me colors.” Tommen grasped both her hands with his. “My soul is yours if you’ll have it.”

“You bring me colors.” Sansa entwined their fingers. “I’ll have your soul if you’ll have mine.”

“I’ll have it,” said Tommen solemnly but his whole face was glowing.

“So be it,” confirmed Sansa in an equally serious tone before gifting him with another brilliant smile. Tommen felt brave so he brought their hands up and kissed her knuckles, staring into her eyes. He thought he could spend the rest of his life in this moment, simply looking at her and knowing that she had accepted him, the little prince who had been overlooked his whole life. This was the happiest he had ever felt in his entire life. The colors seemed so much brighter and he felt so light and free…

Someone cleared their throat and Tommen started and turned.

His grandfather was standing next to them, shielding them from the view of Joffrey and the Queen. He cracked a genuine smile that Tommen returned, grinning broadly.

“Allow me to be the first to congratulate you, my prince, my princess,” he said with a trace of warmth in his voice. “Marvelous, _unexpected_ news.”

Tommen almost burst out laughing when he heard that. “Thank you, my Lord Hand.”

“We are very honored by your words, my lord,” agreed Sansa and exchanged a meaningful look with his grandfather, winking at the older Lannister. Tommen decided he needed to ask what they had been talking about last week. No one had the gall to wink at the Great Lion. No one would usually survive to do so but his grandfather just smirked as if it was natural.

“Soulmates!” shrieked Joffrey from his place on the throne. “That’s…”

Tommen leaned to the side to see his brother and mother better. The Queen squeezed the King’s hand before supplying faintly, “As my father said, very unexpected.”

“Also, the defense of one’s soulmate is the only legitimate reason why a man – any man – can kill a king,” said Lord Tywin loudly and something dark entered his voice. Tommen noticed how courtiers – those around the same age as his grandfather – shuddered and flinched. Was there something the prince should know concerning his grandfather?

“Now, that we have sated our curiosity, I believe that a feast is in order,” continued the Lord Hand, taking away from the King the opportunity to ruin the moment. “You there, run to the kitchens and let them know. Tonight, we will celebrate the betrothal of Prince Tommen and Princess Sansa of the North, and the ceasefire their union will bring us!”

The guard was already half-way through the door when the crowd started cheering loudly. In all the sudden commotion when people moved to get close to them, Lord Tywin leaned to the prince, whispering in his ear, “I’m proud of you, Tommen.”

It was the highest praise Tommen could imagine ever receiving from the Great Lion of Lannister. He knew that his parents and uncle Tyrion had strived their whole lives for Lord Tywin’s approval but had failed again and again, unable to learn the lessons he had been teaching them. How was it possible that Tommen didn’t fail him, disappoint him? That he managed to earn those words? His respect? He didn’t know.

Tommen just squeezed Sansa’s hand in his and blinked back the moisture that had gathered in his eyes. Then he threw himself at his grandfather and embraced him, throwing caution to the wind. “Thank you, Grandfather. Thank you.”

Lord Tywin didn’t look surprised by the sudden breach of decorum. He patted Tommen’s back, held his grandson momentarily close, and then he stepped away with an almost unnoticeable smile playing at the corners of his mouth. But Tommen saw – and Sansa saw and of course that she knew what it meant for the boy who had been ignored for so many years. She was his soulmate. She took the prince’s arm and smiled at him, mouthing softly, “He loves you, you know.”

And Tommen knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, Tommen is a very adorable lion cub, at least in my opinion, but I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of his temper. I hope you liked this chapter, the scene in the throne room is one of my favorites in this story.  
Also, sorry for the long wait. I spent two weeks in the hospital, my NaNoWriMo attempt failing quite spectacularly *grins and shakes her head* On the other hand, I’ve done a lot of work on my original book, so there’s that.  
Next time: Tywin in full parental mode, so stay tuned for the next chapter and also for a special series of Christmas stories featuring my favorite pairings *winks*  
Thanks for reading, I love you all, Mad Mage :)


	5. A roaring heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommen utilizes his Lannister attributes, channels the Lord Hand a lot, and Tywin is the best grandpa EVER.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s see what our favorite lion cub has been up to…

A part of him still couldn’t believe that he had done it. Another – much larger – part of him was feeling perfectly smug about the whole day so far. It had given his confidence an unexpected boost and had geared him up to face absolutely anything in this world. Tommen could hear raised voices echoing down the corridor long before he approached the door. He took a deep breath, placed on hand on the hilt of his dagger, and pushed the door open, ready to face the meeting with his family in their private dining room.

His grandfather had offered Tommen the services of one of the Westerland’s best maesters to attend Sansa’s injuries. The prince had accepted and escorted his soulmate to her chambers under the watchful eyes of several guards. Tommen had wanted nothing more than to stay with his blushing betrothed, marveling at the fact that _he_ had been the reason for the fetching shade of red on her cheeks. Alas, the prince knew he had to see his family and discuss with them the newest development.

The war was going to end. It was a monumental moment for the realm, and _he_, little Tommen, had made it possible. He had shocked them and he should try to make amends, offer his help in planning the crown’s next move. They were his blood, after all, and they should work together. He already had a letter to his future good-brother in mind. He would like to marry Sansa with her mother’s blessing – it would surely ease his betrothed’s mind and making Sansa safe and happy were Tommen’s main life goals.

Tommen had, to be honest, shocked himself as well. It was one thing to be determined to protect his soulmate but to actually stand his ground against the king and their mother and claim Sansa as the mate of his soul was something entirely different. Sansa’s ready agreement was still making Tommen giddy with happiness. It was making him feel like he could fly, just walk on the air.

Stepping inside the room, Tommen wished he hadn’t had to come. There were so many things he wished to speak about with Sansa and instead of getting to know his soulmate, Tommen had to deal with the king and the queen mother and their tempers.

Joffrey was red in the face and whirled to face the door as soon as Tommen entered. He had interrupted one of Joff’s screaming fits, it seemed. Their mother was sitting at the table, obviously agitated and clutching a goblet of wine in both her hands. His grandfather wasn’t present yet and the prince grimaced inwardly. So it would be two against one, he sighed and squared his shoulders.

The warm glow inside his heart made him feel like he could singlehandedly destroy a regiment of Dornish spearmen. He was not afraid to face his family and their ire. He wasn’t a man yet – but he was on his way there, he thought – and Tommen was certainly more of a lion that his brother could ever hope to be.

“Good afternoon,” said Tommen calmly. He turned to the guards in red and gold and told them, “Please, make sure that no one interrupts our family meeting unless it is an important matter, thank you.”

Then he closed the door and inched to the nearest chair. Then he reminded himself that he was a Lannister with long claws and sharp teeth and a powerful roar. He did not need to _inch_ closer to anything. Lifting his chin, he sat down confidently and watched his brother with a serene expression.

Joffrey redden even further when Tommen refused to lower his eyes. Glancing between him and the queen, the young prince said, “You wished to speak to me?”

It took Joff only a moment to react and he sneered, “You think you are all grown up, now, don’t you? Acting like a little lordling! But you know what? I wear the crown! People bow to me! People obey me! You will, too. I am the king!”

So his brother liked to keep repeating. Tommen would really rather be with Sansa than Joff – it was obvious that they wouldn’t do anything productive. Maybe he could keep his soulmate blushing for the remainder of the afternoon? They hardly had an opportunity to exchange a few polite phrases. Tommen longed to hear her speak her mind, know her heart like no one else. She _was_ his heart, after all, that beat outside of his chest.

“And I’m your brother and heir,” deadpanned Tommen. Then he looked away for a moment before adding with a slight upturn to his lips. “One of us has to act all grown up and if you’re not up to the task, it falls to me. Are we going to actually talk about something productive today, or are you going to repeat yourself?”

“You are being very unfair to your brother. I honestly don’t recognize you, Tommen,” said his mother softly in reprimand.

He focused his attention on her. The boy Tommen had been before was gone and he knew he had to look like a stranger to his family now. Queen Cersei was sitting primly in her chair, her sharp green eyes trained on him. She was observing him, assessing him in the same way he would expect her to observe an unknown individual. The prince had worked hard to stop being that meek little fawn his mother had raised. Growing a lion’s mane had cost him greatly – he had paid in blood and sweat and pain. It looked like it cost him what was left of his mother’s affection, too.

“Perhaps you never knew me at all,” he whispered, saddened by his own words. He nodded at her and then turned to nod at Joffrey. “I’m not your firstborn, after all. I’m not even your second born. I’m just the third child shoved into the background.”

At his words, something in his mother’s eyes shifted – an emotion he didn’t dare to name – and her gaze flitted away guiltily. Tommen was right. He had never been her priority – for the queen, the younger prince had always been an afterthought.

“Ah, you’re just jealous, aren’t you?” smirked Joff and Tommen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re nothing in this kingdom, brother, and I am everything. I’m the king, something you’ll never be, and you can’t learn to live with that, can you?”

“Every man who has to say ‘I am the king’ is no true king,” Tommen scoffed and leaned back in his chair to look at them both. “I ask again,what is this meeting about?”

“You remind me of your favorite uncle when he was your age, you know,” said his mother. “He would come and undermine me and Jaime, be disrespectful to us – his family – even to our father… _especially_ to our father. My brother always failed to recognize when Tyrion made fun of him but I knew what he really meant, how his jokes weren’t funny but hurtful instead. You do not want to be compared to that despicable little whoremonger, do you?”

Tommen frowned as he listened to her words. He had known that the relationships in his family had been strained for some time and he had never wanted to take sides. It was impossible. Who would he choose? His mother? Or his uncle whom he loved?

But that was a child’s privilege. He would need to take sides in every conflict he would ever face as a man and that time was quickly approaching. Tommen wasn’t a child anymore. He loved his mother, he would always love her for the simple fact that she had given him life… It didn’t mean, however, that he would let her – or anyone else, for that matter – treat him like a little boy or a fool. He wouldn’t let her emotionally manipulate him. The very thought that his mother tried to do so right now sickened the young prince.

“I know you hate Uncle Tyrion,” he said slowly and looked his mother in the eye. He chose his next words carefully. “I don’t understand your reasons but you will not bring me into that conflict of yours. You are my mother and he is my uncle. We are all Lannisters and that’s what should matter to you both the most.”

“That’s a pretty speech… pretty cowardly,” said Joffrey. “You’re not so brave anymore when there are no soldiers to back you up, are you, Tommy? How can you even think of that dwarf as one of us is beyond me…”

“You fail to understand one important thing, Joff.” Tommen clenched his jaw and turned to look at his brother. “We are at war and we are nowhere close to ending it, let alone winning it. This is the time when family comes first. Not you – and not you,” he nodded at his mother, “_Family_.”

“So, you’ll bring a traitor’s daughter into our family to strengthen it?” sneered Joffrey and finally went to sit down opposite to Tommen. “Should I bow before your wisdom? You are turning into a traitor yourself! When she drives a knife into your back on your wedding night, you’ll bleed to death knowing that you were wrong and I was right…”

“Honestly, Joff, you’re an idiot,” sighed the prince. He didn’t want to be there, dealing with this. There were more important things to do than to educate Joffrey about the lessons he should have already known. “We are soulmates. Do you know what that even means? She’ll never betray me and our union will end the war you started because the Northmen don’t war against the family.”

“You can’t be serious that that bitch is your soulma-”

Tommen moved quickly. He stood up, pulled one of his gloves from his belt, and smacked Joffrey’s face with it, throwing it on the table. “Meet me at dawn tomorrow morning in the third courtyard. I have had enough of your disrespect to my soulmate and me. Fail to appear and the realms will know you for what you truly are, Joff; a sniveling baby and no true king.”

Couldn’t they understand that choosing his soul over the rest of his family shouldn’t have been necessary? Tommen felt like a fool for hoping to have their support in his match or their cooperation in ending this war. He would speak with the Lord Hand about the latter and he would make do without the former. There went the last of that foolish notion, and the boy Tommen had used to be was now truly gone with a man in his stead. He would choose Sansa every time, and he would defend her until his dying breath. With that, Tommen bowed to his mother stiffly, turned, and left the room with every intention of seeing his soulmate before the feast so they could finally _talk_.

***

Tommen was slightly put out at courtly manners and cultural traditions and demands placed on people living at the king’s court in general. He was more than slightly put out at the hypocrisy of those people. After becoming betrothed to Lady Sansa, he couldn’t be alone in her company and needed a chaperone to talk to her. It wasn’t proper, apparently, but he didn’t understand why none of those proper courtiers with their refined sense of morality hadn’t lifted a finger when his soulmate’s gown had been torn and she had been beaten day after day right in front of their very eyes.

The prince growled to himself, turned on his heel, and resumed his pacing. He had been silently fuming for the last thirty minutes and walked around his chambers like a caged animal. First Joffrey and his mother had tested his patience and then… Well.

There was this uncomfortable feeling that tugged at his heart, made his skin itch, and demanded that he needed to make sure that Lady Sansa was doing alright. It was most distracting and Tommen was becoming rather frustrated, especially after he had been denied entry to Lady Sansa’s chambers when he had wanted to see her. He hadn’t known that door could be slammed into one’s face so cheerfully.

Sansa was his soulmate. She was going to be his _wife_. What exactly did they all expect him to do with her behind a closed door? Tommen was thirteen, for gods’ sake! While he wasn’t opposed to the idea of _kissing_ his soulmate, the young prince blushed crimson at the very idea of doing anything more than that. Tommen was perfectly sure that he had loved his soulmate just about forever but it simply wasn’t the love adults usually shared. The feelings coursing through him were purer, somehow, untainted by the ugliness that came with selfish desires and need to possess someone’s body.

What Tommen felt for Sansa was sweeter, selfless. He had given her all of himself and was proud to accept all of her. Mind, heart, and soul. In time, they would share even their bodies and experience love from that angle as well. For now, though, Tommen was more than happy to be bonded to his soulmate in an entirely platonic way. Except for kissing. He believed that he would like kissing her quite a lot... if Sansa wouldn’t be too opposed to that, of course. She would surely blush becomingly and Tommen relished in the image. Making a girl two years older blush was a great feat, he believed.

Well, to be able to do that, Tommen actually needed to be allowed in the same room, right? Letting out a frustrated growl, he made another turn and continued his pacing.

“You look like an irritated kitten, my prince,” said his grandfather’s voice from behind him. He didn’t sound displeased but he didn’t sound amused either. “Stop pacing and come sit with me.”

Tommen whirled to face the Lord Hand and held his gaze for a moment before nodding. He quickly crossed the room to a pair of armchairs in front of the fireplace and waited for his grandfather to take a seat before sitting down himself.

“What is the matter, Tommen?” asked Lord Tywin after a moment of careful observation. “Challenging Joffrey? Pacing around like this? Being disrespectful to maesters? Tell me what the real problem is here. I’d expect you to be happy after evoking the bond, not angry.”

“I…” he fell silent and wasn’t actually sure _how_ to explain. He frowned, cleared his throat, and tried again. “I can’t see Lady Sansa and it seems rather absurd. There are things we need to talk about in private, Grandfather, and I don’t understand why it is suddenly so improper to talk to her alone. If I wanted to talk to her in private yesterday, no one would have tried to stop me.”

Lord Tywin was looking at him calmly, his face without expression but his eyes held a spark of amusement. His voice was light when he told him, “You were not betrothed to her yesterday, my prince, and that makes all the difference.”

“It does not!” argued Tommen, resisted the urge to jump up and pace around the room, and crossed his legs instead. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes tightly. “It feels… I need… I can’t explain it. Why can’t I see her? She is my soulmate.”

His voice sounded whiny and petulant even to his own ears and Tommen resisted the urge to cringe. He had seen Joffrey throw tantrums like that numerous times and it wasn’t a trait Tommen wish to share with his brother. Coming to think of it, he did not wish to share any traits with Joff.

“There is this unexplainable thought at the back of your mind to make sure that Lady Sansa is safe and well cared for. Even if you logically know that she is, you feel like you need to make sure _personally_. You feel like there are hundreds of pins piercing your skin, it’s uncomfortable, it itches and you can’t seem to find the cause. It will start burning in a short amount of time, and your temper will flare even more. It will become physically painful the longer it will go on, the longer you won’t see her,” said Grandfather quietly, his eyes boring into Tommen’s. The corners of his mouth twitched. “Am I right?”

Tommen was staring at him with a bewildered expression on his face, eyes wide, and then he nodded. It perfectly summed up how he was feeling – but he really hoped that there would be no pain. “How do you know?”

“Your partner has been hurt and this is the natural reaction of a bonded soulmate to that fact.” The Lord Hand leaned back in the armchair. “It is, perhaps, a tiny bit stronger in you since you are the one who has entered the bond intending to provide protection for your soulmate. You are a Lannister and we aren’t men who sit idly by when our loved ones are threatened.”

The prince blinked and tilted his head to the side as he observed his grandfather. The way he had spoken about the bond was so casual as if it was a normal thing to discuss and Tommen wondered – not for the first time – how his grandfather could know these things so intimately. The question was at the tip of his tongue but he stayed silent and nodded.

“I still don’t understand why I can’t see her in private,” he said. “Isn’t our bond more of a reason to let us be by ourselves?”

To his surprise, Lord Tywin let out a breath that resembled laughter and shook his head. “No, my prince, I’m afraid that it is not a good reason to leave two young people who happen to be betrothed on their own for any amount of time.”

Tommen felt as his cheeks heated up and he huffed and glanced away. He wasn’t stupid and he knew why his grandfather was amused. He just didn’t understand why everyone was suddenly so keen on the fact that he and Sansa would behave improperly. Then, to his utter embarrassment, Lord Tywin continued.

“You are still rather young,” he said, his voice more serious. “Has anyone explained the proceedings in more detail to you?”

The proceedings? In detail? There was a beat of silence and Tommen looked up at his grandfather in horror. Lord Tywin was giving him a no-nonsense look and the prince knew that this was probably not the time to turn redder than a tomato – which he did – or to revert back into a meek little fawn – which he also did. He shook his head and blushing and stuttering, he tried to force his next words out.

“I-I… well… I… don’t think so.” Gods, it was horrible. He couldn’t look up at the Lord Hand and observed the ornamental pattern on the carpet. “I mean… I know… t-that is… What I’m trying to say… No details, not really.”

“Very well, then, my prince.” When he chanced a glance at his grandfather, Tommen was immensely grateful that Lord Tywin wasn’t openly amused and was still giving him the same serious look, his face without expression. “It’s all relatively straightforward…”

***

When the prince was sure that his face was no longer the flaming shade of red from his earlier discussion with Grandfather, he calmly strapped his dagger to his belt, checked his appearance in the mirror, and left his chambers.

Tommen was resolutely trying not to think about all the _information_ his grandfather had imparted. It had made him rather curious and Tommen had come to the conclusion that apart from kissing, there definitely wasn’t anything bad about a little bit of exploring. Stopping to take a long breath, he willed the crimson from his cheeks to fade again. Tommen wasn’t sure that he had needed such a thorough education on those matters quite yet. Some of those things were impossible to get out of his head, now… But he was determined not to disrespect Sansa by thinking about them in her presence, or about her person. Too much, that was.

While Tommen was happy to be a growing boy – it meant he was getting closer to being a man every day – he had a feeling that this could be… rather detrimental to his own sanity.

He much preferred to think about Lord Tywin’s parting words.

“If it’s driving you to such distraction, do something about your problem. You’re a lion, Tommen, and lions do not concern themselves with opinions of sheep. What a lion wants, a lion gets as long as he pays his debts.”

It was difficult to reconcile that his very proper grandfather had given him permission to go and violate the rules of propriety. With a raised eyebrow and a spark in his eyes no less. Then again, it was a very Lannister approach, Tommen mused. The Lord Hand and all the Lannister men before him had lived by that piece of wisdom and had prospered. It made them ruthless, it made them fearsome. It could lead to ruin. He wasn’t old and wise like his grandfather, but Tommen understood that there was a time when taking what he wanted was not sensible. It was a lesson his parents and uncle had failed to understand. They took without thinking about the consequences of their actions and completely ignored the most common saying connected to their family.

A Lannister always paid his debts.

It had been ingrained in him since he was a small child. Everyone in all of Westeros heard those words and associated them with the Lannisters – how was it possible that his parents and Uncle Tyrion had failed to grasp their true meaning? Lions got what they wanted _if_ they were willing to pay for it. Ser Jaime and his mother had been not, and look where they had landed them all! Tommen was perhaps for the first time he could remember furious with his parents for fundamentally screwing up the whole realm.

Banishing these darker thoughts, Tommen slowed his steps and stopped by a window which happened to overlook a private corner of the keep. The inner courtyard was connected to the guest wing, separated from the rest of the gardens by a thick tall wall that began right under that said window. Glancing around, he grinned and swung out of it. He landed on the wall and quickly jumped down into the soft green grass, smiling to himself.

Sansa’s chambers, by happy coincidence, were located in this particular wing of the keep and overlooked this particular corner of the guarded garden, and Tommen didn’t waste any time in locating them.

Crouching, Tommen peered into her open window and his breath caught at the fragile beauty of his soulmate. Sansa was sitting at the table, busy with her embroidering. Her hair was twisted in a simple braid trailing down her front and she was dressed in a light, almost see-through shift with most of her back bare to not put pressure against her wounds. The skin of her back was covered in a greenish ointment, the red angry welts still visible under it.

His blood boiled and Tommen felt his spine stiffening, a growl forming at the back of his throat as soon as his eyes landed on her injured back.

He must have made a sound because Sansa suddenly raised her eyes and turned, her gaze landing on him without faltering as if she knew someone was there. Her face transformed from the guarded expression immediately and she gave him a radiant smile.

“Tommen!” she cried out happily and rose from her seat. Taking a small step toward the window, she glanced out into the garden and then back into the room. Tommen followed her eyes and realized with a gulp that her handmaiden was nowhere to be seen.

Slowly straightening, he returned her smile sheepishly and gave a small half-bow. “Sansa.”

For a moment, the world fell away as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Tommen felt all of his irrational irritation fade away as he looked into the deep blue of her soul and found himself looking back.

He wasn’t sure who moved first but their hands met somewhere in the middle. He marveled at the softness of her skin momentarily before he lowered his head to place a chaste kiss on her knuckles. Then, by mutual accord, Sansa tugged at his hand as Tommen climbed into her chamber. Standing awkwardly in front of her, most of his thoughts left him and he had no idea what to say. Tommen would be content to simply look at her for the rest of eternity, he decided, but knowing that it was not an option, he took a deep breath and said, “I thought we could talk, my lady.”

Her eyes flitted over his face, some of that radiance in her smile dimming. Then she nodded her head, determination entering her gaze and voice. “Yes, I think we should.”

Seeing the steel in her, Tommen found an answering flame inside his heart. Their hands were still clasped and he gave hers a gentle squeeze. When Sansa returned it, he knew that his soulmate was everything he could hope for in the other half of himself. Sansa Stark wasn’t a weak little girl any more than he was a meek little boy. She was a wolf who had lived with her enemies, abused every day yet unbent and unbroken. And he? Tommen was a lion who would not stand for one more moment of her suffering, of the madness and stupidity of war that harmed and crippled them all.

They would walk this path together from now on - forever, and always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us all appreciate several moments in this chapter *grins* Grandpa Ty has just explained the PROCEEDINGS – IN DETAIL – to our little lion. I do believe that Sansa’s not going to be disappointed on her wedding night *cracks up madly* Also, is it just me, or is Tommen developing the usual Lannister charm as well as their roaring abilities? Oh my! Our cub is growing up! *winks* Let me know your favorite parts, please *grins*  
It’s been a while, I know, and I’m sorry about that. In case you are interested in lame excuses, I do have a reason for not updating as much as I’d like. After injuring my hands earlier in the year, my computer has recently died… *sighs* I hope you guys are all safe and healthy and that some of you are still interested in this little story.   
We’ll get Sansa’s POV in chapter 6 and I plan to update ‘And She Never Wanted to Leave’ sometime next week, so stay tuned and lots of love, Mage :)

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t help myself. This story is nothing like I had planned – at all. For example, Tywin wasn't supposed to be here. But I hope you enjoyed the chapter and would be interested in more… Let me know and see you around :)


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